


Finishing Touches

by itsaquinnquinnsituation



Series: X Years Later [11]
Category: Newcastle (2008)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Gen, M/M, Routine Sketch, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:14:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2772632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaquinnquinnsituation/pseuds/itsaquinnquinnsituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once, I have no idea when this happened, but I'm guessing, about 9 or 10 years later?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finishing Touches

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters or the plot of the original movie belong to me. I am not making money off my work, which is written for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> This is my universe and exactly how I see it. Writing should be enjoyed, not judged.
> 
> Where did this even come from? Don't know, but once I saw it, it wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> Thank you for your support, everyone :) 
> 
> I highly recommend everyone to watch this movie.

“How’s it going?”

Andy shoots him a glance, smiles, and gets up, cracking his back:

“Good. I'm done with the first layer. Now I’m just going to add some finishing touches here and there, and then wait for it to dry.”

“Looking good…”

Andy has to chuckle at that because Fergus is not even looking at the coffee table at all, but, is, rather, gazing at him with those deep magnetic brown eyes. Andy shakes his head:

“Can you make me a pony tail? My hair is in my eyes.”

He can do it himself, of course, just take off his gloves and all, but this being a Saturday morning, chances are high that his hair-tie had ended up on Fergus’ wrist last night, instead of his own…

…which it did. 

Plus, one should not underestimate the additional benefit of having Fergus gently comb his fingers through his hair – which, though he’d done this very maneuver countless times over the years, - he always does ever so slowly and cautiously. So Andy can barely resist biting his lip in anticipation of Fergus following through the steps of the little routine…

…which he does.

And of course, what with how they are then standing, there’s a big likelihood that Fergus will take another tiny step forward and hug him from behind, an opportunity that Fergus would almost never pass up…

…and he doesn’t.

He wraps his arms around Andy’s waist and sets his chin on his shoulder before finally actually taking a proper look at the table:

“My goodness, that looks amazing! Even without that glossy stuff, what’s it called?”

“What, varnish?”

“Yeah, that looks professional! Whoever taught you how to paint?”

But Andy doesn’t respond, just inhales deeply with a tiny noise and leans back into Fergus, taking in the smell of his aftershave and shampoo.

It was a rather shabby-looking white coffee table when they’d acquired it and Andy’s task was to make it match the rest of their stuff. Having never before dabbled in arts, Andy picked up three cans of paint of various shades of brown, took the table out onto the back deck, and set the scientist within on the loose. By the looks of it, his very first experiment was turning out an overwhelming success.

But to Fergus, who was now enjoying the warmth of his partner’s body and eyeing the product of his creative thinking, this was hardly surprising. 

Everything that Andy’s hands touched changed for the better. 

Including Fergus. 

Fergus was neither fond of nor understood the value of touch when he was younger. His parents were by no means affectionate and the only touches he could expect from his siblings came in the form of pushes, shoves, jabs, and, when things got really bad, kicks. They may have stopped with the more severe abuse by the time they all moved to Newcastle but that did not mean that his body stopped carrying the memories of yellowing bruises. He may have healed on the outside, but the cells in his body still associated every touch with pain. 

So it was no surprise then that it took him awhile to get accustomed to Andy’s ways. 

It was kind of a general knowledge amongst the lads that Andy was a very tactile person. He felt no shame in hugging his male friends, in squeezing their shoulders to show support, or touching them gently to express compassion, and the way his behaviour blended so inseparably with his personality, there was hardly anyone who considered it weird. There was nothing sexual about it – it was just how he was, it was all innocent and unconscious. It was one of the ways he spread his positive energy around – and it was also entirely common to see him and his Mum at the market – the way she held onto his arm – as many eastern European women commonly do – and he never seemed uncomfortable or embarrassed by it, as many other young males would be – including when she made him carry her bags. 

So that was Andy. So naturally then, when Fergus and he came together, there was a bit of a clash of two worlds. Fergus with his fear of touching, and Andy who used it as primary means to show his love. ‘Course, Andy didn’t right away know so much about who Fergus was or where he came from - well - he knew his twin brother - a little bit better - but he was never too quick to assume and to project Jesse’s quirks onto Fergus – and so it took him some time to really figure out what the case was.

Now, for Fergus, the whole thing had really been mind over body, or – body over mind, to be precise. He knew with his mind that Andy would never cause him any harm, but his body, so used to being assaulted, attempted to recoil every time Andy put his hands on his skin. He fought with it, tooth and nail, because he *liked* Andy touching him, but his body refused to give in. He would tense up, clam up, and if Andy left his arm around his shoulders for too long, he could even go into hyperventilation. 

But thankfully, all that was just during their initial “friendship stage.” By the time Andy got so attuned to Fergus’ behaviour that he began to really grasp what was taking place, Fergus had largely won the war with his body, and – well - things kind of already began to change. It was still unspoken at that time, still very much cautious and wary, but both became very intentional about their actions. Especially when Fergus required it the most, in those couple of months just before he was to go off to college, they began to really quiet down, to spend their time in all-knowing silence, Fergus scooting over just a tiny bit closer and Andy leaving his arm around him or holding him in a hug just a little bit longer.

But whether he knew it or didn’t, Andy had been changing his friend all along. His hands have been running over his body, over every part of it that carried an imprint of a bruise, and – slowly - banishing those painful memories for good. Every square centimetre that was hurting, that was so used to being mishandled and injured, was being slowly healed by those soft gentle touches that were creating new imprints on Fergus’ skin. It was as if - “Great” – Andy’s hands were conveying, - “If they don’t want you, that’s great. Because I do. I want you very much, and if they don’t want you, that’s perfect for me, because I’ll get you all to myself.” 

…and in a way, he did.

Whether he wanted it back then or not, he got way more than he could ever hope for. He’d started something back then, something that soon evolved into a strong, unrelenting force, a force that effaced any doubts and insecurities they may have had and, eventually, lead them to this…

 

“Fergus.”

“Mhmm.”

“I have to finish painting.”

“’kay.”

Fergus makes no motion to disconnect and Andy smiles, turning his head to nose him into the neck:

“Hey” – he whispers softly, - “You want to make us some smoothies? And take them into the bedroom or something? I’ll join you there shortly… give me about twenty-five minutes…”

“Mhmm…”

“...and we can do whatever you want.”

Fergus lets him go reluctantly, but as Andy turns around to face him, Fergus’ eyes take on a mischievous hue. He takes a step back and smiles:

“What, is that like a bribe?”

“No” – Andy responds with a cat smile of his own, his face all but glowing with love, - “No, it’s more like a promise.”


End file.
